


Bedside

by orphan_account



Series: The Answer [1]
Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Henry Lives, M/M, and joe is very sad he needs a hug, post-cleave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 08:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16530617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Henry's closest companions visit him as he returns from the brink of death.





	Bedside

It's late in the night, but Joe isn’t home. No, he's at El Greco’s place, holding onto Henry’s hand like it's a Goddamn lifeline.

Well, he had been at home. Last night, if his memory serves right. It's all foggy still, what with him drinking until he nearly puked his liver out. Vito had come to pick up the pieces after him _again,_ bless his soul, and he brought him home to clean up _and_ sober up. After that, he went straight to the doctor’s place. Much to his dismay, Henry was still out cold, wrapped in bandages like one of those Egyptian zombies and with enough morphine pumping through his system to knock out a fucking horse.

Joe feels fucking terrible, for starters. Terrible doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it. After Marty… after Marty, he swore he wouldn’t let another person he cared about get killed. But here he is, not a week later, with the man he cared for most (besides Vito, of course, but this was different) near-dead in a hospital bed. He almost stands up to drink himself silly again, but— he's sure Vito doesn’t want to have to pick him up two nights in a row. Besides, he supposes Henry wouldn’t have wanted that either. And so, he’s stuck suffering here without any alcohol to push the thoughts away. _It’s your fault,_ a voice tells him. _He’s gonna die ‘cause of you. You’ll end up getting Vito killed, too._

“I’m sorry,” Joe mumbles, giving Henry’s hand a squeeze. “Christ, I’m _so_ fucking sorry, Henry.”

Silence. He should’ve expected that much; it doesn’t look like Henry’s waking up anytime soon, and that’s what hurts the most. There’s a moment where he considers going out to dull the pain again— but surprisingly, _so_ surprisingly that Joe has to wonder if he's dreaming, Henry squeezes back. It's weak, as if he's using all of his strength to let Joe know that he's _here,_ that he's _alive,_ that Joe doesn't have to be afraid anymore. Hell, it might really _be_ all of his strength— he hasn't opened his eyes or moved in any other way, looking as though he's still comatose under a cloud of morphine. In spite of this, the small gesture gives Joe a rush of _hope._

Eyes widening for just a moment, Joe takes a deep breath. He opens his mouth to speak— shuts it again when he realizes that Henry probably wasn’t gonna be able to respond. Even then, he moves to carefully lace their fingers, running his thumb across the other man’s knuckles. Christ, the entire wait was _agonizing,_ but he isn’t about to give up just yet.

It takes a long while, but soon enough, Henry stirs. He rolls his head over on the pillow to face Joe, his one good eye barely open. Chest rising and falling, he just stares for what feels like an eternity, still quiet and still hazy. His first words since the attack are a broken, somber croak, softer and more remorseful than Joe’s ever heard from him before. “M’sorry.”

Quickly, Joe shifts his chair so that he’s facing the other man, his eyebrows furrowing deeper. “Hey, hey, what do you gotta be sorry for? It’s alright.” A long moment of silence passes before he speaks again. “I should’a gotten there sooner.”

Feebly, Henry shakes his head. “Don’t,” he murmurs as his hold on Joe’s hand tightens. “You ‘n’ Vito _saved_ me.” Even a simple sentence such as that is enough to sap him of his energy— his grip loosens a considerable amount, eye fluttering shut.

“Hey, stay with me, pal.” Joe only squeezes Henry’s hand in return, hoping it’d be enough to bring him back to reality. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

Henry’s eye blinks open a beat later, and just like that, he’s staring at Joe again through a medication-induced fog. “M’here,” he mumbles, his tone sounding like he’s trying to _comfort_ the man. He lightly runs his thumb across Joe’s knuckles in what seems to be another effort to soothe. “M’ _here,_ Joey.” When the awfully affectionate nickname slips, Henry doesn’t give any reaction— he has no idea what he’s just said.

Joe blinks, the shock he feels seeping into his expression for a moment. Then— there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Should I be worried about the fact you just called me Joey?” A small shot at a joke, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. “But I sure hope you are. Can’t afford losing you, too.”

Henry exhales in a frankly sad attempt at a laugh, weakly shaking his head yet again. “You’re not going to,” he says, still barely above a whisper. He doesn’t answer the first question; whether he’s ignoring it or he genuinely didn’t catch it, Joe has no idea. His eye closes, then, as he tilts his head to face Joe and lets his cheek rest on the pillow. “M’not goin’ anywhere. Too much to leave.”

“Thank _God,_ ” Joe murmurs, breathing out a small sigh. “Y’know, Vito’s gonna be real glad to know you’re alive. You really had us scared back there. No one thought you were gonna make it.”

With a slight hum, Henry opens his eye to look up at Joe. “Thought I was dead ‘til now,” he admits, a frown crossing his face as he takes a thready breath and lets it out in a sigh. “Thought— thought that was it.” His gaze defocuses as he stares off at nothing, his scowl only growing deeper.

“But it wasn’t, y’know? And you’re here now. Everything’s gonna be alright,” Joe reassures him, although part of the intention behind his words is to reassure _himself_ as well. He gives Henry’s hand another squeeze. “ _You’re_ gonna be alright. Vito ‘n’ me are gonna be here every step of the way ‘til you’re all better.”

Another hum. Henry’s eye snaps back up to his face, and in an incredibly endearing moment that catches Joe _entirely_ off-guard, an earnest smile begins to spread across his own. “M’glad,” he mumbles, thumb running across Joe’s knuckles yet again. “M’ _glad_ you’re here. More than you think.” He’s being totally, one-hundred percent genuine— probably the most genuine anybody’s ever _heard_ out of him.

Joe blinks, and he only hopes that Henry couldn’t see the red that had blossomed across his cheeks. “Gee,” he says, sounding particularly _idiotic,_ “didn’t know you felt that way, Hen.” He clears his throat, looking away for just a brief moment. He opens his mouth to say something else— shuts it again when the words don’t find him. “I… yeah. Just glad you’re still breathin’.”

Henry exhales amusedly through his nose, grin growing wider and more dazed all at once. “ _Hen,_ ” he echoes fondly, eye fluttering shut. “That's new.” It's then that he goes silent, only breathing in and out, almost as if he's fallen asleep. But he opens his eye just as Joe thinks he might've drifted off, eyebrows furrowing. “…M'not going to remember this tomorrow,” he murmurs, smile wavering. “Don't know how to feel about that.”

“So’s _Joey,_ ” Joe rebutts with a little snort. Regardless, he hums, turning his attention to Henry again, giving his hand one last squeeze. “I’ll be sure to remind ya. But it looks like you need more sleep.” Eventually, he lets go of the other man’s hand, making his move to get up from his chair. “Least I can finally get some sleep knowing that you’re breathin’. I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Unexpectedly, Henry reaches out and grabs Joe’s arm, grip as tight as he can manage in such a heavy morphine-induced haze. “Please,” he breathes out, suddenly vulnerable and almost _soft,_ even, his words tender. “Don’t go.” He lets out a weak laugh, the briefest flash of a weary smile crossing his face. “M’not letting you, anyways.”

Another look of surprise crosses Joe’s features, but he nevertheless sits back down. “You sure? I mean, I ain’t exactly good company outside a bar or somethin’. And I know you need your rest so, yeah. I’d probably end up bein’ a bother.”

Henry shakes his head, trailing his hand down to link with Joe’s and allowing their fingers to intertwine together. “Already said I was glad you’re here,” he murmurs, eye dropping to their joined hands. He blinks a few times— every time, his eyelid gets heavier and heavier. When he speaks, he sounds like he’s falling asleep. “Stay with me.”

“...Sure thing, Hen. Anything for you,” Joe says, voice a little softer, quieter. “Now go to sleep already, sounds like you’re gonna pass out.” He chuckles, absentmindedly pushing a few stray strands of hair away from Henry’s face.

Eye finally falling shut, Henry wears a contented smile. “ _Buona notte,_ Joey.” And with that, he settles into a light sleep, chest rising and falling with each breath.

Joe only breathes in deeply and lets it out with a sigh. Still holding onto Henry’s hand, he gives it another squeeze as he tries to will all the Goddamn _butterflies_ to stop. What is there to be jittery about, anyways? It's just Henry, and Henry's his friend. Just a friend, and not someone he’s been in love with for the _longest_ time.

Joe brings his hand up only so he could bury his head in both of them. What a fucking _mess._

**Author's Note:**

> vito chapter comin soon boys
> 
> \- ri


End file.
